Broken, Not Shattered
by DreadfulStar
Summary: Sometimes it was best to listen to advice. Or else the world will drag you down with pain and torture. Will the psychological and physical pain be worth it?


It's not like his day began unlike any other day. It was quiet, the rays of sunlight glared through his broken window blinds. Johnny shoved his head under the comforter, not eager to wake up. He laid there, curled up, until where he lay was no longer comfortable. He shifted around, groaning. Repeat. He had to get up at some point. After about ten minutes of rolling around under his blanket, his mother tapped on his door.

"You gittin up or not. I ain't wasting time cookin if you ain't comin out."

He reluctantly sat up. She knocked harder, "You listenin? Don be a brat, wake up."

He sat on his bed, swinging his legs over the side. She knocked one more time. Johnny looked at the door, "I'm up! Stop knocking, okay?" He could hear her footsteps moving down the hall. Johnny put on a new shirt and straightened out his pants. He opened his door, looking outside. No one stood in the hall or in the living room that he could see. Johnny pulled the comb out of his pocket, combing it out as he walked into the kitchen. His mother stood by the stove, making a few pancakes. She looked over at him, her face was sunken in, eyes darkened and tired. Her thick black hair was in disarray, but she couldn't really care. It was hard to tame the family hair anyway. Johnny looked around, towards his parent's bedroom mostly.

His mother spoke up, her voice quieter than earlier, "He ain't gittin up. Hungover. You can hang around longer than usual, might as well get breakfast."

Johnny stared at the door still, taking a few seconds before turning back around. He was timid out of habit. He sat down in a chair, legs off to the side in case he had to get up quickly. His mother placed a plate in front of him. His eyes flicked up at her then back to the food, "T-Thanks."

His mother just shrugged and sat opposite of him. Every movement she made was sharp, like a trapped bird fidgeting inside it's cage. She ate food from her own plate in silence, occasionally looking over at her son, just shaking her head. Her hazel eyes met his at one point, "Kid you don't always have to be so quiet. He's pretty passed out right now. When he wakes up he won get up."

Johnny just looked back down. Sure, he was scared of his father the most, but he still feared his mother. She let it happen, even siding with his father at times. She waited, just sighing. Once both plates were empty, she grabbed them and immediately went to washing them. Johnny stood up quietly, trying to sneak out of the house. However his mother caught him, "John!"

He stopped where he was, turning to look at her.

"Don look so frightened. Why can't you stay in this house just for one day?" She questioned him, stomping her foot down. Johnny wanted to complain, but all he could do was shrug. His mother pointed towards his room, "Go to your room. Stay in there too. You can't leave this house for one day, if you do," She glared at him, "I might just tell ya father you are misbehavin."

It was if a knife plunged into his chest. He turned on his heels and looked at his mother. Without hesitation he headed back to his room. The door shut behind him quickly and he locked it. However, he had no intentions of staying in his room all day. He opened his window slowly and climbed outside. He spent that day like he spent any other, hanging out with Pony. After a while of absently wandering about, Pony and him headed to the Curtis' house. Dally took off to do God knows what. It was a decently enjoyable day, he couldn't deny that. Maybe it was worth risking his life. Johnny kept an eye on the ticking clock in the kitchen.

Pony watched him off and on, "You okay there? You look awful spooked by something." He looked worried.

Johnny sighed, "I have to go home soon. At least before suppertime. They can't figure out that I was gone. Ma said if I left the house she'd wake up my father and tell him I was being a brat..."

Pony became frightened, shocked by his friend's decision, "Johnny! You should've stayed home... I mean I know that's hard but you know what they might do! Johnny, I don't want you to get hurt because of hanging out with me..."

Johnny rubbed his arm, feeling chills under his skin, "I don't want to be in that damn house, you know that!" The hour hand ventured close to the five, "But I have to go, okay? Bye Pony. I'll see you tomorrow."

He stood up, reluctantly walking out into the evening air. He held the sides of his arms, his head facing downwards. The sun was low in the sky, a calm breeze wafting past him. Johnny took his time walking down the alley towards his house, kicking a few pebbles around. He didn't anticipate the return home but he had to or face his father in drunken wrath. Or even worse, hungover wrath. Everything was evil to him when he was hungover. Anything that opposed him would be crushed underneath a boot or a tight fist. Or as the televison once suffered, a battle with a baseball bat. Johnny usually could hightail it before he met the same fate. He shook his head, trying not to think about it.

He approached his hellish home, climbing back through the window. The first thing the teen noticed as he entered his room was that his door was wide open. In reawoken terror, he froze, staring forth out through the door. Hell, the door was gone, ripped from the hinges. His father was the only one strong enough to do that to the door. He's dead…Small shivers worked up his limbs until he was trembling. He was dead.

* * *

**Yepp, my first Johnny story. This is based on a true story. If I find the case name again, I'll source it as inspiration. **


End file.
